


I Feel You

by Syrenslure



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrenslure/pseuds/Syrenslure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue deals with the aftermath of her decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel You

**Author's Note:**

> For the Cuff 'Em, Vamp 'Em, or Just Make 'Em Come Already Kink and Cliché Multi-Fandom Challenge 2007, hosted by svmadelyn, Sleep and bedding themes (watching someone sleep), also includes First time, with a shy/bold virgin.

It's days before she can take her gloves off and not feel the ache of need to put them back on. Even though they are no longer necessary to keep her and those around her safe, she still feels the need for them. They are a part of her, now, more real than her own skin, and as she looks at them, formless, lifeless, casually laid out on her bed, she feels flayed.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this - so empty, so wanting - shapeless without her powers, like the long, white, opera gloves lacking the form of her fingers. She wanted to be normal, to touch and be touched. To be real, rather than a dangerous mirage that stole the very life of those that dared to reach for her.

She slips into Logan's room, in the mansion, wraith-like, and hovers next to his bed, as silent and still as she can and watches him as he sleeps. His nostrils flare slightly in his sleep, and she knows that he smalls her, senses her presence, but he sleeps on, knowing her, knowing that she is not a threat to him. The ironic thing is that she isn't, not anymore, if she ever was.

She can touch, now. All it would take would be the slightest movement on her part to reach out and brush his unruly hair away from his brow, worried, even in sleep. Still, she can't quite bring herself to do it, because what she is really longing for, she won't find.

It isn't the simplicity of touch that she longs for - not anymore - or she would be curled up with Bobby, holding his hand and skating beneath the stars, like she had dreamed about, and not standing here, hovering over the only man who had ever really touched her. It's Logan that she wants - to take him in, feel him fill her up in a way that she imagines is even more intimate than sex. She wants to feel his power steal its way past her skin, into every fiber of her being. She needs the healing that only he can offer, for the price this "cure" has wrought on her.

His touch has always been her salvation, casual in a way that she hasn't felt with anyone else, not since the moment she learned of the monster that she had become. Logan has an awareness of himself and his space, but the little contact he gives her always seems more casual than calculated. He has never turned away from her, never flinched away from her reach. The slide of her hair through his fingers, or the ripple of his muscled forearm through the silk of her thinnest gloves - he has never feared her, or her touch. More than once, he has shown that he would give anything, bear it all, to save her and make her whole.

Yet, he had let her go. He had offered his support, in his own way, for her actions, even if he didn't commend them. He had even held his tongue and wrapped he in his awkward embrace when she came back broken and cured beneath the relieved facade that she had shown Bobby and her friends.

No one could have stopped her, not even him, and he is the strongest person that she knows, the man that she trusts more than any other. Even asleep, he seems larger than life, and so very unyielding. She misses the feel of him crowding in her head, thrumming through her veins.

She watches as he grimaces through his dreams, thrashing lightly in his sleep. The sheets have slipped down his body, tangling in his legs, and baring his body to her gaze. Her whole body aches with the need to make contact, to offer comfort, to rest her bare fingertips against the firm wall of his chest, and tangle them in the thick, dark hair that seems to cover him everywhere. Rogue barely catches herself, before she gives into the impulse, her fingers poised bare millimeters from his skin, so close that she can feel the heat that seemed to radiate off of him. His heat seems to slip past her defenses and begin to warm the chill that she has carried around with her since the clinic - maybe longer. It fractures the last of her resolve and she gives into her impulses.

No sooner than she has touched him, her hand grazing her lower belly, than his hand comes up like a shot and wraps around her wrist in a vice-like grip, and she finds herself pinned in place by his gaze.

"Please," she begs for permission, or release or both, as she wars between folly and flight.

"Marie." The words are hoarse, confused, but his eyes are clear, unclouded by sleep.

"I can't..."

"Go to bed, Marie. Get out of here."

She shakes her head, sadly, and lowers herself to the bed, fitting into the small space between him and the edge, her body partially covering him, touching as much as she can with her small body, clutching at him with delicate hands.

"Don't do this."

"I have to. I need to." Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and they beg him to understand. "Please."

He holds both of her hands in his grip, firmly, but gently trying to hold her away from him, as he looks into her eyes. "You don't want to do this, Marie. This isn't the answer. You need to run along, and we'll forget all about this in the morning."

"I don't want to forget, Logan. All I do is forget, and pretend and act like nothing's changed, that this is what I wanted, to be normal. I'm not normal and I don't want to be alone, and I'm still alone, and everyone feels sorry for me, like I'm still a freak - the poor girl with the big bad mutation who couldn't handle it and went and got myself cured, and they don't want to think about that because they're either jealous, or scared, or both or just pity me, and it's still all about them, and not about me. Nobody sees me. But you do, Logan, with you I'm just Marie, always, Marie, and you're Logan, and we know each other. You've been inside my head, and I know you, how you think, and how you breathe, and how you feel, and I want to feel it again. I want you inside me. I want to be so close that I can forget that I am all alone. I want to touch and be touched, and not have to see the fear of someone flinching away because they're scared or pitying me. I want to remember and I want to forget and I want you, Logan, nobody else. I need you."

"Marie, darling, this isn't the way."

"Yes, it is. It's the only way." She knows that actions speak louder and than words, and she shows him the only way that she knows how, by pressing back against his hold and leaning in to press her lips against his. He tenses under her assault, but doesn't push her away. She knows that he would never hurt her, couldn't hurt her, that's why he has tried to talk her out of this, to push her away, and it is why she can't stop, won't stop, now.

Finally, his mouth opens under her kiss, and her tongue slides into his mouth, to dance and play along his, to slide across his sharp teeth and surprisingly soft lips. His hands slide from her wrists, up to hold her hands in his, and pull them up, above their heads. It causes her to fall across his chest and she squirms and moans, against him, already a little overwhelmed by the heady situation.

He pulls his head back against the pillow, breaking the kiss and looks up at her. "Darling, if you keep up that wriggling, this is going to be over way too fast." The wry tilt of his mouth is sexy as hell, as he half-smiles up at her.

"I don't care. We'll just keep going 'til we're done, 'til we've had enough."

"Marie," he half groans her name, and half growls, and before she realizes it, he has wrapped his arms and legs around her and flipped her onto her back in the middle of the bed, towering over her, supported by muscular arms. She can feel the wetness between her legs feel like a flood, and she lifts her hips to his, seeking friction.

"Yes."

Now, his grin becomes a full-fledged smile, and the tip of one of his claws extends a few inches along her shoulder, under the strap of her nightgown. "If we're doing this, you might want to lose this, or you won't have anything to wear out of here in the morning, and streaking down the halls probably ain't the best idea."

She knows the threat is half truth, and half bravado designed to scare her away, but it makes her blood race, as she reaches between them for the hem, and yanks it over her head and throws it to the floor in one swift motion. "Ha, you don't scare me. Besides, I'll just grab one of your shirts." She gives a quiet little snort and mutters, "It wouldn't be the first time."

He looks up, from where his eyes have been hungrily taking in the length of her, to look at her, teasingly. "Is that so? Something you need to tell me, darling?"

"No!" Rogue curses herself as a flush runs down her cheeks and over her neck and chest. "It's just. It was nothing. I missed you, and I had one of your shirts, and it was big... Hey, it was comfortable. I liked wearing it... and these." She reaches up to tug gently at the dog tags that he has only recently begun wearing again.

"Damn." She can feel his erection swell against her thigh, and her eyes widen, as he reacts to her confession.

She gulps a little, trying to swallow down a nervousness that has no place between them, and slides her hand down his body to wrap it gently around the length of his hard cock. He moans a bit, but lifts up, giving her room to explore and to look down the length of their naked bodies.

He follows her example and watches as she slides her small, pale hand up and down along his shaft. Then, he carefully lays his hand over hers, and leads her in a slow, easy rhythm, sliding her hand through the dampness along the head and then back down the length of him, before letting go. He is thick, and heavy in her hand, and she starts to imagine what he would feel like inside of her, splitting her open, and filling her up. She wonders what he would taste like, and seeking the answer, she runs her fingers over the head again, and lifts her hand to her mouth to find out.

She catches the look on his face and is awed by the raw desire that she sees there, and then he is slipping away from her, sliding down her body, all teeth and lips and tongue, as if he needs to taste every square inch of her skin. Excitement sizzles through her, and for one moment, she feels almost dangerous again, like a static charge is building beneath his mouth, drawing them together. Then he reaches her hip, and nips at the crest of it, skin stretched tightly over bone, and urges her thighs even further apart,

His tongue slides along the crease of her cunt, urging her to open to him, and his thumbs tease lightly, making it fact. He dips his tongue into her opening, lapping up the wetness that feels like it's seeping from her pores, there is so much of it, and his tongue feels slippery and rough on her. When he slides a finger inside of her, then two, drawing them in and out, spreading her open, she gives a brief thought to his claws, and remembers that she's not the only one that can be dangerous. She shudders and feels herself fly into a million pieces, all of them barely connected to his fingers inside of her, his mouth on her clit.

He's nuzzling her as she falls back together, and there is a languid satisfaction in her body, but also a charge, a need that is even more urgent than before. It's so good, but it's not enough, never enough until he's there with her, feeling what she feels, being the same as she is.

She tugs on his shoulders, trying to communicate that it's enough, she wants more, needs more now. "Logan," her voice sounds strange to her own ears, soft, blurred around the edges, "Please, now. I need you."

He makes a small sound, against the inside of her thigh, that may be her name and he's up and over her, imposing and strong, and she's right where she wants to be, as she tries to guide his thick cock to her entrance, to push him inside, where she needs him to be. The angle's all wrong, and she gets frustrated, angry at her own inexperience, irritated by her inability to make it real. He makes soothing noises, and gentles her with light touches, and she is amazed again how someone so rough around the edges can be so soft with her.

He lifts her knee, hooking it over his hip, and she lifts her other leg, too, tucking her ankles around the small of his back. He rocks against her and she can feel the tip of him sliding along her wet folds, bumping against her clit and sending sparks of desire through her body. She arches her back, desperate for more, and he suddenly pushes into her in one long, steady thrust. It's only the way his mouth has latched onto hers, distracting her with a kiss that overwhelms her senses, and swallows her cry that keeps anyone from hearing her startled pleasure/pain.

She feels so tight - way too tight and small - as if he'll never fit, but he does. He's inside her, with his fists clenched tightly in the sheets, and she can tell that he is fighting not to move, to not just pound away and rip her open, but that's not what she wants. She doesn't want his control; she wants him to be vicious, and to take and to give. She pushes against him, forcing the issue, in a move that is slightly more painful than pleasurable, but he opens his eyes and begins to move with her, shifting the focus back in the other direction, until she forgets the pain altogether, except for the occasional twinge of newly stretched muscles, and just rides out the joy of him thrusting into and out of her body, as close as they can be, closer even than she had expected.

Their bodies slide easily against one another, sweat slicked, and she can see the drops gathering along his hairline, feels them under her fingertips, and leans up to taste him, to draw his scent and feel and taste into her mouth, connecting them one more way. When his hand snakes between their bodies and rubs against her clit, she is taken by surprise by the sudden blossoming of pleasure and bites down on his shoulder, sinking her teeth in as she tries to scream his name. He tenses under her mouth, and grunts his own pleasure. With a hard snap of his hips, he is buried to the hilt inside her and tumbling over the edge after her, flooding her with his own pleasure, and she can almost feel it like it is her own.  
He collapses on top of her, and she realizes how heavy he actually is, but it is a comforting weight, for a few seconds, anyway, until she has an urge to breathe. "Oomph. You're not exactly light, Logan."

He rolls to the side, and flings his arm over his eyes. She can see the moment he regains his senses, and starts to pull away, even before he speaks. "Marie. We shouldn't have done that."

"Shh," she places her fingers on his lips, almost hurt until she finds her resolve again. "Yes. Yes, we should. No regrets, Logan." She snuggles against his side. " Thank you. I'm going to stay for a while. I'll leave in the morning. Then, tomorrow, you're going to take me for a ride on your motorcycle. I want to do everything, while I can." Living in mutant central means that the rumors have already begun filtering in that this cure may not be permanent after all, and she know that there are no guarantees. She knows that Logan may not stay, that he might run again, but she's going to hold on for as long as she can.

When she finally falls asleep to the steady rise and fall of his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her head, she knows that he's still awake, still thinking, probably still having regrets, but she can feel him - under her, inside of her, all around, and she can almost feel normal again.

  
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This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=68>  



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